Whispers of the Wind
by Theatregirl7
Summary: He finally allows his tears to escape, lets the sobs of sorrow rock his body. He can distantly hear the priest saying a few last words. But it doesn't matter to him. Anguish is tearing through his body, shredding his soul to bits. One shot.


He clutches the red dress in his hands, his fingers stroking it slowly. The velvet softly brushes against his skin, and suddenly it's more than he can bear.

It reminds him too much of that night, one of the happiest in his life. It reminds him too much of her musical laugh, tinkling like the wind chimes on their front porch. It reminds him too much of those warm eyes that looked at him with so much love.

He drops the dress to the floor as his throat closes up, choked with tears. Tears stain his cheeks as he falls to his knees, beside the crumpled dress.

Pain.

It rips through his body like a knife, stabbing at his heart. He never knew he could hurt this much, be in so much agony. He felt hopeless. He couldn't see the point in going on if she wasn't here beside him.

There's a knock on his front door, soft and quick. He gradually lifts himself from the floor and slows his tears. He wipes away the remainder of them before opening his door.

His friends stand there, clad in black garments. They glance at him for only a mere second before enveloping him into their arms. He notices they have been weeping too; their eyes are ringed with red and their cheeks are streaked with tears.

They all stand there for a few moments, suspended in the embrace. No one speaks up; no one dares to make a sound.

They eventually release him but continue to remain silent. He glances at the clock and realizes they must leave soon, or they will be late. He leads them outside and they huddle into the car. He doesn't feel right about driving, so he allows his best mate to.

The chapel is full of his friends and family as well as hers. Many people wave to him, offer him a sign of their grief. He merely nods back; knowing if he spoke his voice would be thick with tears.

The priest brings the room to attention and begins the service. Many of her family members speak; telling of good times, bad times, times when she had made them smile when they thought they'd never smile again.

He sits in the front row with his friends and listens intently with his head bowed down in respect. He can't bring himself to look up; knowing he of all people should speak about her. He had thought of it but he knows he could never convey with words the love he felt for her. He knows he could never describe the way her laugh would brighten up a whole room, or how a kiss from her lips could turn his worst day into his best.

The procession moves to outside, and the small graveyard behind the chapel. Many people are whispering quietly to each other, but he remains silent.

He steps forward with his friends to carry the casket. The marble is ice cold, and he can't help but think how her skin must feel the same.

They lift it up and begin to walk down the small sloping hill. He blinks away his tears, attempting to keep his vision clear so he won't drop the casket. He couldn't imagine dropping the thing that held her fragile body.

They reach the large earthen hole with a pile of moist dirt beside it. He looks down into it and imagines being buried so far from the sun's bright rays.

They slowly lower the casket into the grave, and are eventually forced to release their hold from it. He squeezes his eyes shut as he hears the resounding thump, thinking of her poor corpse being jostled as it hits the bottom.

He opens his eyes and crouches down beside the hole. He wishes he could jump down into it, let them bury him alive, and be with her again. To see her eyes light up again. To hear her laugh escape from her mouth again. To capture her lips onto his in a sweet kiss again.

He finally allows his tears to escape, lets the sobs of sorrow rock his body. He can distantly hear the priest saying a few last words, reading a passage from the Bible about blessing her in Heaven. But it doesn't matter to him. It doesn't matter that he probably has a dozen eyes watching him. Anguish is tearing through his body, shredding his soul to bits.

He hears the shovels scraping and people mourning, but the sounds slowly turn to footsteps, and the footsteps slowly fade to silence.

He feels a hand on his shoulder and a quiet laugh. It's musical, tinkling away softly.

He quickly turns around, looking for the source of the sound.

But he's alone, except for the whispers of the wind.


End file.
